In The Cell Beside You
by Cheryl W
Summary: Set in 2009 movie: A month after their shuttle ride to Starfleet, Kirk & McCoy have a chance meeting at a bar and forge a friendship. No slash.
1. Chapter 1: What's In A Name

In the Cell Beside You

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any rights to the television show or movie, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: Set in 2009 movie: A month after their shuttle ride to Starfleet, Kirk & McCoy have a chance meeting at a bar and forge a friendship.

Author's Note: I will be flipping POV from Kirk and McCoy so watch the breaks for who's up to bat. The title of the Story comes from a Groucho Marx quote: "When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, "that was fun'".

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**What's in a Name**

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STSTST ~ Kirk's POV ~ STSTST

'_What was I thinking? I'm not a people person,_' Jim Kirk berated himself, thought it sickly ironic that the San Francisco bar he was in had the same starship salt dispenser as the Shipyard bar in Iowa, back where all the craziness had begun. Where Pike had _dared_ him to do something utterly stupid, and like that time that moron Hank dared him to jump his bike over a riverbed, he just didn't have the good sense to resist, to admit there was something he couldn't do.

But this here, what he was trying to pull off, it topped all the rest. Seriously, him in Starfleet?! That was the biggest joke yet. Not to mention him being surrounded 24/7 by people?! That wasn't his thing. Sure, in a bar, yeah but that wasn't like this. This…this was people encroaching on every aspect of his life, sharing a room, sitting in classes with about a hundred other cadets, eating in the cafeteria at a table occupied by people who just don't shut up. And that wasn't the worst of it. Yes, he had a reputation back home in Iowa. But here, it wasn't _his_ reputation everyone talked about behind his back. It was his dad's. The oh-so-heroic, George Kirk.

Then there were the not so subtle implications that he only got admitted into Starfleet because of his dad. And ok, yeah, that one he couldn't refute. I mean, what other qualifications had Pike considered in his ten minute association with him?! How well he took a punch? The color of his blood? That he was too stupid to be afraid to go against four against one odds?! If that was Starfleet's entrance exam, half the men he used to work with in the quarry could join up.

So yeah, he had been riding an ego trip, thinking Pike had seen something in him that no one else ever had. '_No dummy, he just saw your dad_.' Some legendary hero that believed in death before dishonor. But not him.

No, he needed to end this. To tell Pike he got it wrong. His name was James not George.

When someone behind him said "Kirk?", for the first time ever, he wished that he had taken his step father, Frank's last name. But that thought reminded him of his brother, of Sam's last words before he left home for good. "You can't be a Kirk in Frank's house."

'_So what's so great about being a Kirk?_' he wanted to ask Sam, would to, if he could find him.

But then his last name was being called out again and he turned around to face his latest antagonist, his hands already balled into fists. Yes, he wasn't usually a punch first kinda guy but it had been a crappy day, no, crappy month and maybe he really did love being a genius-level repeat offender.

Swiveling fully around, he realized that he recognized the approaching thirty year old dark haired man. "Thought it was you," the man said as he claimed the bar stool to his right without invitation.

A bit stunned, he looked to the man already busy ordering a scotch. No one, absolutely, no one was making it a point to spend time with him. Either because of his glare or they were too in awe of parentage or too disgusted by the rampant nepotism in action.

Misinterpreting his look as being unacquainted, Kirk's bar mate started to explain, his tone ebbing with a United State's southern drawl, "We met on the shuttle in Iowa. Name's…."

"Guy who only has his bones to call his own," he finished, was great with tidbits of info, even half drunk on his feet.

His sharp memory earned him a smile from his companion. "Yeah, so how's Starfleet treating you kid?" Nodding to the glass in Kirk's hand, he surmised, "About like it's treating me by the look of things." Then he downed his Scotch in one gulp and ordered another. Muttered, "Think me and my bones should have hit a far continent on earth 'stead of this. Least there the natives wouldn't get joy at ordering me around every second of every day."

He was speaking before he remembered that he wanted to be alone. "Well, unless they make you their slave…right before they eat you."

That earned him a raised eyebrow of surprise from the older man. "Whoa. What happened to the Mr. Optimist I rode into this rodeo with?"

And yeah, he remembered the chit chat he had with the nervous doc on the shuttle, remembered giving the guy statistics, of telling him, comparably, military duty in space wasn't any more high risk than military duty dirtside. Had talked out his butt about space exploration, things he had only read about, until the doc looked unlikely to throw up on him. But the doc had it right, he had been….enthusiastic, had really bought into the 'better future', the idea that he was worth someone's faith in him.

Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his unruly hair. "My optimism got court martialed," he mumbled as he nodded to the bartender, watched his glass being refilled for the third but certainly not the last time that night.

STSTST – McCoy's POV – STSTSTST

Critically eyeing up his companion, it didn't take Leonard McCoy's medical license and dabble in psychology to know the kid was decidedly in the dumps. And as much as he was right there in the dumps with him, he didn't like it, that the spark in the kid's eyes had practically been extinguished. Because, yeah, he liked the kid. After all, Kirk hadn't recoiled away when he announced he might puke on him, had instead spent the trip rattling off facts about how safe space was. Sure, he knew it was all hogwash but that the kid had worked to calm him down….it meant something to him. A lot actually.

It seemed now was his time to repay that particular brand of kindness.

"I hear the first three months here are the worst, trying to get _used_ to being someone's "slave",' he drawled, could see out of the corner of his eye that Kirk's lips turned up into a slight smile at his use of the kid's analogy, so that was progress. "So two more months and then we'll….like saying 'yes sir' and getting out of bed at the crack of dawn, and listening to lecturers that drone on and on. Then, few short years after all that….we get to go into space. Just where _you_ want to be." Because he remembered Kirk's look of excitement at even the prospect of getting out there, while his own gut had really felt like erupting, and not because of the rocky shuttle ride.

That got Kirk looking at him, a spark of that excitement from their first meeting back. "Come on, McCoy, space. It's the final frontier, you know, where …."

"Everyone smart enough to stay on Earth doesn't go?" he cut in with disdain. Seriously, what had he been thinking?! Joining Starfleet, going into space!? He barely liked hover cars, thought they were unnatural, liked the feel of the road under his tires.

But Kirk was shaking his head, spinning his stool to face him. "Space just isn't another destination, it's the ultimate destination."

"You mean last destination," he amended before he remembered he was trying to encourage Kirk, get him to stay in Starfleet, not throw out dark predictions of death and dismay. But before he could soften his point of view, Kirk was speaking again. .

"It's a perfect place to start over. Out with the old, in with the new. You said so yourself, there's nothing here on Earth for you so ….find something out there you like better," Kirk suggested, hand raising and pointing skyward.

And darn it if the kid didn't make a compelling picture. "Clean slate?" he amicably hazarded, knew that was what he had been searching for, kid just said it more eloquently than he could think it.

But some of the kid's spark dimmed as he gave a pale smile, qualified, "For you," before he swiveled back around to his drink, looked into the liquor's dark depths like they were tea leaves.

And it ticked him off, that Kirk could go from blinding super nova to winking out star in two second's flat. Suddenly, he knew in his gut that someone had screwed with the kid's self-worth, in Kirk's ability to see a promising future for himself. Inexplicably, he wanted to wring that person's neck. Sure, he didn't know the kid long but he liked him all the same. Better than he liked any of the staff at the hospital he quit to join Starfleet.

"I think even a guy with your sad lack of charm can't have garnered the hatred of species we haven't even met yet," he drawled, hoping to get a rise out of his companion. Kirk didn't disappoint.

Eyebrows arching, Kirk repeated with a laugh, "Sad lack of charm? I'll have you know I'm irresistible to females of any species, known and unknown."

"Ah, delusional, just as a diagnosed," he taunted, fought hard to hold back his smile when Kirk practically sputtered, "You're diagnosing me now?"

But before he could give a meaningful put down, Kirk was roughly bumped into by a lithe strawberry blond guy who claimed the barstool on Kirk's right while the guy's three buddies crowded around him, also managing to shoulder check Kirk as they jostled for position. Kirk rolled his eyes at him, but didn't turn around to face his rude neighbors.

Neighbors who liked to talk loud.

"I heard he only got into Starfleet because of his dead daddy," one of the standing men announced, seemingly to the entire bar but his eyes were focused on Kirk, well Kirk's back because the other man hadn't moved at the intended jeer.

"I heard it was like the old days- go to jail or get drafted. Drunken disorderly, like 100 times," another piped in.

"Nah, his mommy wrote him a permission slip to join up. Guess she's hoping to get rid of him the same way she did her husband," the guy occupying the barstool to Kirk's back theorized, causing his little group to break into snickers.

That was almost more than he could sit there and stomach, because, even though he didn't make it a habit to listen to gossip, he knew who Jim's dad was…and how he had died. It just took the almost imperceptible flinch that crossed Kirk's face to breakdown his restraint. Surging off the stool, he began to stalk around Kirk to reach the younger man's adversaries, growling as he went, "So help me, you either apologize or one of my colleagues in Medical will be wiring your mouth shut tonight."

STSTST ~ Kirk POV ~ STSTSTST

Wholly unprepared for anyone, ever, to come to his defense, he almost didn't react fast enough to stop McCoy from reaching Masterson and his boy band. Surging off the barstool, he intercepted McCoy's war path, didn't speak for a moment, was too spellbound by the fury coloring the doctor's face. Fury at a bunch of jerks who insulted…him. Huh? New territory had been breached and he wasn't talking about space. The last time someone stuck up for him….well, Sam never had to stick up for him because he was a golden boy back then, did everything Frank told him to. So maybe…yeah, the hot chick, Uhura, she kinda stood up for him, well, didn't think her fellow Starfleeters should _kill him_.

So this guy he's known for like…a shuttle ride, being ready to rip heads off to defend _his _honor? It's so unexpected it's got him thunderstruck. Until McCoy's heated glare bounced to him, didn't accuse him of being gutless at his inaction but was beseeching to be given free reign to unleash his anger on the foursome.

But Jim Kirk fought his own battles, always had, always would. He counted on me, myself and I and that worked out best. Didn't leave him flapping in the wind, depending on someone that never was there…his dad, his mom, his brother. So giving a reassuring pat to McCoy's chest and offering up a smug wink he turned around to face his fellow cadets.

He bestowed his most goading smile on the seated cadet, "So Masterson, you sure you should be off base? You might not be able to find your way back." Promptly, he snapped his fingers like an eureka moment came to him. "Wait, Starfleet stitched your name and quarters in all your uniforms like _your_ mommy used to do for you, right?"

He could tell that Masterson wasn't amused but he wasn't angry either, not yet, but he did climb to his feet to stand toe to toe with him. "Kirk, always thinking you're the funniest guy in the room."

"Oh, I don't just think it, I know it. Especially when you're in the room," he boasted and insulted, eyes flickering to Masterson's three companions when they seemed ready to up the ante to a physical level. To his surprise, he felt McCoy shift closer to him, as if the doctor was ready to not just dive into the pending fray but get right in the middle of it.

McCoy's presence seemed to strike Masterson too because his eyes traveled to the other man. "Who's your friend?"

He almost snorted at Masterson's turn of phrase. Friend?! Yeah, not quite. He didn't have friends, never even went in for the drinking buddies. This guy, McCoy, was just some guy he met on a shuttle and ran into here again. '_And he doesn't deserve to have his reputation trashed just because he's had the misfortune to walk into this bar, think it was OK to grab a drink beside you tonight_.' So he denounced Masterson's assumption, gave McCoy his walking papers and a clean slate…just like the good doc wanted. "I don't have any friends 'cause then I'll have to pretend I'm not the funniest guy in the room."

And he fought the urge to look over his shoulder, to read the hurt, the anger, the sting of betrayal in McCoy's features but didn't, kept his focus front and center on Masterson, just waiting for the fireworks to start. But when he didn't sense McCoy's departure, he thought maybe the doc was waiting around to take his own shot at him.

Felt himself tense when Masterson eyes swung to McCoy. "You guys looked pretty chummy when we got here." As if he expected McCoy would denounce him right back. But silence only came from that quarter.

"Him? Nah, asked me to pass the pretzels. He's not even from around here," he announced, hoped McCoy got the message to move on because Masterson was enough of a scumbag to target McCoy if he saw him again.

"No, I've seen him around the academy. What's your name?" Masterson directed at McCoy.

"Mr. Bones," he answered for McCoy, smiling his most earnest smile. "But enough about me, I hear you're the one with the lock on family legacy in Starfleet. You're third generation. Tell me, are you gonna wear one of their uniforms for dress formals?"

Masterson's face colored into shame and he nearly sputtered, "My mother and grandmother were the Starfleet officers in my family."  
Loving that the idiot walked right into that one, he put a hand on Masterson's shoulder, leaned companionable closer and drawled, "Exactly and you'll look great in the little skirt. Give you a chance to show off your legs." And then he topped it all off with a wink.

'_Here it comes_,' he thought as Masterson telegraphed his intended punch like a grade-schooler. But he didn't raise a hand to stop it, liked to give his opponents the feeling of being superior, at least for a moment or two. Braced for the punch, he wasn't at all prepared to be yanked backwards by a pair of arms suddenly coiling around his waist. He could feel the whoosh of Masterson's fist as it barely missed clipping him on the jaw, then he was stumbling into someone's chest, knew it was McCoy's when the other man growled right by his ear.

"Where I come from, you try and avoid getting punched in the face."

"What fun would that be," he snarked back, was about to be request being turned loose when McCoy did just that. Except he followed up by shoving him to the right. Then the doctor stepped forward and punched Masterson himself.

Stammering, "What the…" he didn't have time to put everything into prospect before Masterson's lackeys were joining the fray. Delivering that first punch …he would have to be a called a liar if he said it didn't feel good. Then it was just down to throwing out punches, kicks, jabbing out with elbows, taking the blows to his face and body with determined grace. At one point his back slammed into someone else's and he turned around, fist raised only to discover he had McCoy in his sights.

"I'm on your side, remember," McCoy drawled with a touch of derision before bellowing out an order of "duck!"

Obeying, he heard the smack of flesh on flesh as McCoy decked the guy who had been coming up behind him. With that foe seemingly down for the count, he popped back up, gave a "Thanks" to McCoy before they parted ways, took on their opponents again.

With a nice uppercut followed by a roundhouse right, he knocked Masterson out cold. Turning to take on the rest, he found that the other cades were already on the bar floor, one courtesy of him, but two courtesy of McCoy, who was stumbling a bit to keep his feet, had a cut lip and cheek and a red welt over his right eye that would be a nice shiner.

Before he could offer up thanks to the doctor, the all too familiar ruckus of the police barging into the bar was heard. Sighing, ready to be a re-repeat offender, he was moving to lean back against the counter of the bar, to await his arrest but McCoy's hand shot out, snagged him by the elbow and then the man was manhandling him again.

"Come on, we gotta hit the road, Kirk," McCoy announced, practically dragging him behind him as McCoy waded through the bar crowd and slammed out the back exit into the alley, where two officers stood at the south entrance.

"Run!" McCoy commanded, his hand still locked around his elbow.

He and McCoy ran in tandem toward the north entrance. But when he started to go right, McCoy pulled him left before finally releasing his hold on him. Pelting down the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians, he and the doctor didn't stop until they were seven blocks away.

Panting, he leaned against the grimy alley wall and looked to his right where McCoy was duplicating his hunched over position. "Thought doctors were pacifists?"

Gulping in air, McCoy shook his head then gave him a cocky smile. "My great great great grandfather fought in Earth's Civil War. Fighting's in my blood, kid."

Prepared to make a wisecrack, he fell silent instead as he noticed McCoy's bloody hand. Coming off the wall, he snatched the other man's hand in his grip, inspected the cracked skin over the knuckles with concern. "Are you insane?! You're a surgeon, McCoy. You could have messed up your hands?!" Couldn't believe the doctor had risked ending his career over a bar fight…a fight that wasn't even about him. '_It was about me_,' he thought, eyes raised to McCoy's in surprised gratitude.

Snatching his hand from Kirk's, McCoy snorted, "Right, worry about a little of my blood, meanwhile you were gonna let 'em mess up your face. How you gonna charm all those females then, huh?"

When McCoy followed up his tirade by unexpectedly reaching a hand out toward his face, he flinched away, instantly felt his face color at the action. Hoping to cover up the moment, he gave a wolf's smile. "Oh, I manage just fine," and steeled himself this time when McCoy's skilled fingers made contact with the cut on his cheek and the one on his forehead that was dripping blood down by his eye.

"That's gonna need stitches," McCoy diagnosed.

But he brushed McCoy's hand away. "Nah, its fine," and started to head out of the alley.

McCoy snagged his arm again.

"Whoa, what's with the manhandling," he groused even as he let McCoy steer him to the street, flag down a taxi and nudge him inside.

"Starfleet Academy, Medical building" McCoy instructed the cabbie.

To which he protested, "Serious, this is fine, Bones."

McCoy's eyebrow arched at the nickname. "Bones, is it?"

"Come on, it's appropriate, right? If it makes you feel better, I'll let you give me a nickname."

"Idiotic, how's that?"

He feigned a look of hurt. "I'm not feeling the love. I mean, we just bonded back there," he joked but found that it wasn't a lie, really did feel a bond of friendship with McCoy.

"Yeah and we're gonna bond some more while I stitch up your head," McCoy acerbically predicted.

STSTST ~ Kirk's POV ~ STSTST

For someone whose hands were used for delicate work, should be protected against strain, should logically by _weak_, McCoy had a killer grip. He should know, the doctor didn't let him go until he had pulled him out of the cab, frog marched him into the Medical facility and practically shoved him onto an exam table.

As the doctor ordered the necessary items from a nurse, he contemplated the man, tried to figure out why McCoy got involved and like any great mystery, Kirk found it easier to ask then to wonder. "Why did you do that, get involved? Chance getting hurt?"

McCoy's eyebrow arched again. "Why wouldn't I?" was his indignant comeback, like he thought he was a little mentally challenged.

And it was staggering that it was that simple of a decision for McCoy to have his back. He was about to offer up his sappy gratitude when the doctor, none too gently, jammed a hypo in his neck. "Ouch! We're on the same side, remember?" throwing the doctor's words back at him. "Didn't they teach you bedside manners in Medical school?!"

McCoy's smile was rakish as he began stitching up the wound. "They did…but I skipped that class to go out with a pretty girl."

Chuckling, he found that he liked McCoy more and more. "I admire your priorities."

"My taste in alcohol is even better. There's this bar on 9th street, beers are two for one on Friday nights…" the doctor reported, the invitation clear as he put the finishing touches on the stitches and stood back, waited for his reply.

Smiling, he thought, being around people, it wasn't the worst thing in the world. Especially if it meant someone to split the cost of beers, have his back in a fight and even patch him up afterward. Meeting McCoy's expectant gaze, he replied, "I'm in. Just hope you don't start another fight."

That got the desired reaction from his new friend.

"Me?!" McCoy's voice rising in indignation. "You started this one."

Holding up a finger and shaking it, he refuted, "No, no, I did not throw the first punch."

"Right, you insulted him until the other guy did," McCoy perceptively concluded.

Impressed by the doctor's astuteness, he smiled wider. "See, you didn't _stop_ me from doing that so it's partly your fault."

McCoy threw his hands in the air with aggravation. "Of all the bullcrap logic…" he grumbled.

Enjoying the man's irk, he reached out and gave the other man's shoulder a squeeze. "Bones, I think we're gonna start liking it around here…well, at least Friday nights," he qualified with a smile that McCoy soon begrudgingly returned.

And it was strange, to think his father's reputation, in a way, had garnered him his first real friend, someone that he could count on. It had him sending up a '_Thanks Dad_' and for once, it wasn't with bitter sarcasm for all the man had left him to deal with on his own, but with real gratitude. Because being alone, it really was highly overrated and maybe having a reputation to live up to, wasn't all bad.

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The End?

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Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. I just loved the friendship between Kirk & McCoy and couldn't help penning this story.

I do have other ideas for McCoy & Kirk one shots, so if you're interested in more, please drop me a review.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.

PS – And in case some of my SN readers stumbled onto this story and are worried about SN updates, I want to reassure you that I haven't abandoned any of my other stories. I am diligently working to finish "Surviving is just step one" before getting back to "Tethered". However, like the crazy obsessive person I am, I got sidelined by the oh so wonderful James T. Kirk. Hope you forgive me!


	2. Chapter 2: Best Acquiantances

In the Cell Beside You

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any rights to the television show or movie, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: Set in 2009 movie: A month after their shuttle ride to Starfleet, Kirk & McCoy have a chance meeting at a bar and forge a friendship.

Author's Note: Because of the wonderful reviews and all those who favorited this story, I'm adding to my one-shot.

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Chapter 2: Best Acquaintances

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The Starfleet lecture hall is full and everyone is giving the instructor their rapt attention, namely because he's telling them how to **not** get blown out of an airlock the first day they venture into the cold void of space.

Leaning over to his companion, Kirk whispers to McCoy, "See, now you know how to avoid that. Space feels safer every day, right, Bones?"

McCoy shifts in his seat closer to Kirk, drawls with sarcasm, "Right. Now it's just Klingons, black holes, air pockets and disease out to kill us."

"Hey, without disease, you'd be out of a job," Kirk reminds, fights back a chuckle at the dark glare Bones shoots him.

On the other side of McCoy, a tall dark haired cadet who looks barely old enough to drive a hover car pipes up, "Some diseases are worthwhile. I dated this…."

"As for the airpockets," Kirks says louder, speaking over the kid, "myth. Total myth."

"Myth my southern behind," McCoy lowly growls. "I heard a freighter hit one couple years back and they are _still_ finding floating corpses."

The cadet takes that moment to lean over McCoy to speak to Kirk. "Bones is right. I read about that one."

Beyond annoyed at the cadet, McCoy throws Kirk an incredulous look which only makes Kirk snort in laugher. Knowing it's up to him to handle the pest, McCoy puts a hand on the cadet's chest, thinks he just did it in time before the kid climbed over him to talk to Kirk. However, the kid's not deterred at the physical restraint, is already opening his mouth to say who knows what to Kirk.

But McCoy's done humoring the kid. In one swift moment, he shoves the kid back and pins him into his chair then he lowly hisses into his face. "Number 1: No one's talking to you. Number 2: Only he gets to call me Bones," jerking his head toward Kirk.

Leaning across McCoy, his arms resting on his friend's knees, Kirk adds, "Number 3: What he said," as he points to McCoy.

Finally wising up that he should be scared, the kid shuts up and turns his attention, for the first time, to the lecturer.

Settling back into his seat, Kirk watches the lecturer a few moments before sparing a glance to McCoy. Neither one can hold back their smiles. Ok, so making friends wasn't their specialty.

Eyes returning to the lecturer, Kirk tilts his head toward his friend, whispers, "You know you just gave me _permission_ to call you Bones."

"No I didn't!" McCoy harshly denies, voice raised enough to garner a few looks from the people on the aisle across from them. He gives them a glare and they quickly look away.

But Kirk's gloating in the chair beside him. "Nope, _Bones_, you did. Definitely."

"Definitely not.."

"Bones, Bones, Bones, Bones," Kirk sing songs under his breath.

"What are you, six?!" McCoy grouses, poking a finger into Kirk's side, startling him into silence. For about 2 seconds.

Using his best intellectual tone, Kirk theorizes, "Well, I was born lightyears from earth so I might actually be negative 1250 years old, give or take a hundred years."

"You ever _not_ have a smart comeback," McCoy says, though he always finds that knack is one of Kirk's more amusing traits. Sure beats his talent for getting into trouble. Course most times Kirk's smart comebacks _lead _to the trouble.

"Ah…no. So what's my nickname gonna be?" Kirk prods, looking to Bones like a puppy waiting for a snack.

"How about '_Corpse_'," but it isn't McCoy who offers up that suggestion. "Because that's what you'll be if you don't start paying attention and learn how to not kill yourself your first day in space," Captain Christopher Pike rebukes, causing both men's heads to snap in his direction. Simultaneously, McCoy and Kirk hurriedly straighten in their chairs and snap out "Yes Sir".

Claiming the chair beside Kirk, Pike eyes his protégé with a gaze that would put a lie detector to shame. "Rumor is six Starfleet cadets got into a bar fight last week. Guess you wouldn't know anything about that."

Eyes pointedly fixing on the lecturer and not Pike, Kirk levelly answers, "Fighting is against the honor code, sir."

Though he knows he shouldn't, Pike smirks at Kirk's avoidance tactic. "I think I know the codes a little better than you do…especially since you've only been here a little over a month."

Finding that he didn't really want to disappoint Pike, not so soon in the game, Kirk met his mentor's surprisingly amused gaze and quoted, "Starfleet code directive #37 states that we are to shun conflict but if it becomes unavoidable, we are permitted to defend ourselves, sir."

Pike's smirk grows into a smile and his eyebrow arches. "And it was unavoidable?"

But it's not Kirk who answers but the dark haired cadet at Kirk's side. "Definitely." McCoy tacked on a "Sir" when Pike's look settles on him.

Surprised that the loner Kirk had a buddy willing to defend his actions, Pike studies the other man, who is older than most cadets, figures he's looking at number 6 in the bar altercation. He likes that the man holds his gaze evenly, doesn't recant his statement or his loyalty to Kirk. Returning his focus to Kirk, he commands, "Don't make this a habit, not here," because he wanted to give a kid a better life, not just the same one with difference scenery.

Understanding the faith the captain is putting in him, again, Kirk doesn't have a comeback, can only nod his head in acquiescence. He watches as Pike stands up, looks ready to walk away but then the captain leans down and his words are low enough to only carry to Kirk and McCoy. "And trust me, Masterson in a skirt, no one wants to see that. Now Masterson's _mother_'s legs, that's a whole different story," he imparts with a cocky smile and a wink before he leaves the two cadets staring after him in wonder.

Their stupor is interrupted by the nosy cadet once again. "I got a nickname for you, how about Pike's Pet."

Kirk's about to shoot a glare over to the kid but McCoy, like always, is already busy defending him.

Hand locked around the kid's wrist, pinning it to the armrest, McCoy menacingly warns, "Kid, you're two seconds away from learning how it feels to have your carpal bone in your hand dislocated. You know how we fix that?"  
The kid swallows, shakes his head.

"We don't," McCoy harshly states. "So how about you find yourself another seat."

Eyes wide, the kid nods his head and when McCoy releases his head he nearly flies out of the chair, stumbling over a few legs to make it out of the other side of the aisle.

Smirking, Kirk bumps his shoulder into McCoy's until his friend's eyes meet his. "Dislocate his carpal bone? Really, Bones?"

"Idiot doesn't know his carpal bone from his tail bone," McCoy mutters but at Kirk's knowing look, he can't help smiling, knows Kirk easily saw through his bluff. Cadet didn't though and that is the important part. "One of the perks of being a doctor is having the vocabulary to threaten very specific bodily harm."

"Bones, I like you a whole lot, but you are a sick man," Kirk replies, his wide smile expressing just how much he enjoys his friend's sickness.

"Course I am, I'm sitting here with you, aren't I?" McCoy volleys back but the merriment in his eyes tell Kirk that there is absolutely nowhere else he'd rather be. But there is one thing he wants to learn from his new friend. "So Captain Christopher Pike's rumored to be the best captain in Starfleet and _you_ know him," a hint of jealous frustration in his tone, because of course Kirk would know the most fascinating person in Starfleet's recent history. But instead of gloating about the connection, Kirk shrugs and pretends he actually wants to hear the lecturer's instructions on properly sealing an exosuit but Kirk can feel McCoy's eyes on him.

One glance to his left confirms it, McCoy's not going to let him off the hook. With a little sigh, Kirk leans toward McCoy and instantly McCoy's meeting him half way but there is no longer humor in McCoy's eyes but understanding, like the doctor knows whatever connection Kirk has with Pike, it's not something Kirk's all that comfortable talking about.

It gives Kirk the encouragement to not offer up some lame explanation but the real one, to believe that just maybe, McCoy will understand. "Pike…he ..he knew my father," he begins. When McCoy's expression doesn't change, doesn't call him on the obvious hints that nepotism is in the cards, he clears his throat. "My dad must have made quite the impression on him because Pike…he got me into Starfleet." McCoy is nodding sagely, like he understands the connection between Pike and his new friend, even approves of it, so Kirk says the rest. "Actually he dared me to join up."

"I don't take you as the type to turn down a dare," McCoy drawls with mirthful disdain, can practically see how this all played out.

Kirk shakes his head, and offers McCoy a cocky smile. "Can't miss the chance to prove someone wrong."

"Course not," McCoy snorts. "So Pike's a family friend. He watched you grow up and thought you'd amount to something," he teases but when Kirk's eyes drift away, he knows he's guessed wrong somehow. Immediately, he starts to apologize, "Hey, Kirk, I didn't mean to …."

"Met him the day before I met you on the shuttle," Kirk announces quietly, shoots a quick glance to McCoy, sees the shock and then the comprehension in the doctor's expression.

"He broke up a bar fight back in Iowa between me and some cadets. Picked me off the floor…well, table and sat there past closing time talking to me," he recalls, small smile turning up his lips at the memory, because even now it seems inconceivable someone like the famous captain Christopher Pike would waste a moment of his time with him _before_ he knew who his father was. After, he kinda got it, but before, when he was just a drunk who was crazy enough to fight 4 trained Starfleet cadets?! It didn't make any sense, could only be accounted to Pike's big heart, though he doubted many would accuse Pike of being a softie to his face.

And as strange as the story is, McCoy doesn't doubt it. Jim Kirk had something about him that had drawn him in, even in _their_ first meeting. Something most people don't have and he isn't even sure what that is but Kirk has it. He had felt it and apparently so had Captain Pike. The funny thing is, Kirk doesn't even know what it is. And by his embarrassed, humbled expression, he thinks it is something to be ashamed of, that someone has faith in him, likes his company. '_Idiot_,' he fondly chastises his new friend but aloud he jokes, wanting to wipe away the self-doubt in the kid's eyes, "So bar fights, that's how you make all your best acquaintances?"

"Well, not my _best_…" Kirk taunts back, enjoys McCoy's glare at the insult. Then he tries to put the conversation back into safer waters. "So, what's my nickname?"

"Dumbbehind, how's that?" McCoy offers, loves Kirk's scowl. "Course moron or idiot, will work too. Course then there's …."

Kirk puts his fingers in his ears. "I'm not listening."

And McCoy continues his litany of nicknames for his new best friend. Doesn't bother worrying that he's totally missing the lecturer's intent warning against hostile encounters because there is no doubt in his mind that if he gets into trouble, he won't be alone, Kirk will be there with him. Course it should scare him that _Kirk_ isn't listening how to survive those catastrophes any more than he is.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for all my awesome reviewers and those who favorited this story! Without your kindness, this story would have remained a one shot. However, as you can tell by the "tbc", now you've done it and encouraged me so I have other one shots coming.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.

PS – Anyone pick out the Supernatural quote I slipped in here?


	3. Chapter 3: Next of Kin

In A Cell Beside You

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any rights to the television show or movie, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Just McCoy's musings this chapter.

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Chapter 3: Next of Kin

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'_It wasn't like they had picked the safest occupation in the world but these kids are scratching in the 'Next of Kin' section on their medical forms like we'll be calling their moms to come pick them up at the nurse's station at elementary school,'_ Doctor Leonard McCoy groused as he flipped through more of the cadet medical forms stacked on his desk.

No, he knew the harsh reality was they were going into space and it was going to do its best to rip each and every happy explorer to shreds. So the calls being made to next of kin, it wouldn't be "Timmy's running a fever" would be more along the lines of "Timmy got blown out of an airlock and for all we know, his body's floated to Kronos."

Here's another smartaleck who thought it was funny to write in "my mommy". And this is from the generation that was going to protect our futures. There goes my retirement plans.

Flipping through half a dozen more forms and giving them his approval, he sighed as another rocket scientist forgot to fill in that all too important section.

He was tossing it into the reject file when the cadet's name caught his eye: James T. Kirk.

What the heck? Because Jim was a wild card but he took this type of thing seriously.

Though it wasn't his duty nor his business, he began reading the form in earnest. Found his stomach dropping at each answer.

_Father_: Deceased (He knew that. Heck, all of Star Fleet knew that.)

_Mother:_ Winona Becker (Whoa, no longer a Kirk? Jim never said she re-married. Yeah, like he's a chatter box about himself unless it's his romantic exploits.)

_Siblings:_ Sam Kirk (Vaguely remembered Jim mentioning a brother but never any stories once Jim was in his teens. Wonder if they kept in contact? Stupid, the answer's right there in the 'next of kin' box, McCoy. Sometimes I wonder how you made it through med school.)

_Height/Weight/Blood Type_ – (yup, knew all that.)

_Medical History_: (Finally, we're getting to the good stuff)

_Allergies_: No Allergies (Liar. Last time we got near a dog, you spent the rest of the night sneezing.)

_Lengthy Illnesses_: Mono (The kissing virus. Real surprise there.)

_Accidents_: Motorcycle accident with internal injures (Probably some stupid stunt he was trying to pull. Guess I should be relieved he's not bucking to be a pilot, that my life won't end when he tries to flip a star ship 5 times all while we're doing warp speed.)

_Broken Bones_: 5 (ok, that's way above average, course we're talking about Jim here. No actually that number seems low for the reckless jerk. He probably isn't counting the times he got his nose busted in some bar fight. 5 is probably the number of bones broken badly enough for him to confess to.)

_Operations_- _number and description of each_: 3

1 due to Motorcycle accident

2 to reset broken bones (Maybe it was a stunt gone wrong, a fall, few bones broken at one time requiring 2 surgeries, because that was Kirk's style, to do things big.)

But his gut was telling him something different. Something he didn't like one bit. It had him turning on his pad and accessing Kirk's physical exam records.

He let out a sting of curses.

Because he wasn't a doctor in title only, had spent his formative years in an ER, knew the signs only too well. Wrists, arms, _jaw_. Sure, could be breaks by usual child roughhousing but Kirk wasn't a klutz. Was an athlete through and through.

Rubbing his hand over his mouth, Leonard fought down the bile. Abused as a kid, it was there in the lines between Jim's answers. And Jim's mother was off-planet most of his childhood, he had learned that much. That left her new husband, the man that was supposed to take the place of the heroic George Kirk, in his children's lives.

It made sense now, more sense. Jim's resentment at his father, at the famous Starfleet hero, at the man who valued the lives of his fellow shipmates enough to die for them….and leave his son to fend for himself, to be _hurt_ by the man that was his replacement. For good measure, Leonard threw out his own curse at George Kirk for being the selfless hero. Suddenly that attribute didn't seem so noble.

Next of Kin…it wasn't that Jim didn't _have_ family to fill in the box. No, was he didn't want them to be a part of his life. '_Or his death_,' McCoy grimly categorized because, like it or not, the stark purpose of the information was for the Notification of Death.

But Jim, it's not **only** for that purpose!

It was someone to call and say he's done something stupid and got himself hurt but he's going to be Ok. It's the person they call when you're going to need new clothing and a ride home. Is the lucky guy who the cops call to get you out of the pokey instead of your superior officer. Is a place to list people who are like your family, who give a crap about you, enough to make sure that the lazy hospital staff doesn't give up on you and write you off.

Decisively picking up his pen, he scribbled his name in the Next of Kin block on Jim's form. "The idiot doesn't get a vote," he grumbled, would knock some sense into his best friend's head the next night when they headed out for drinks.

"Huh" he said as a revelation came to him, had him pulling out his own incomplete form from his pocket. Straightening out the kinks in the paper, he found the Next of Kin box and finally knew the person out of his family that he wanted listed there: James T Kirk.

Smiling, he tossed his now completed form on the approved stack and moved onto the next cadet's form, even laughed out loud at the misspelled: Brain McCallister. Close enough, he amicably thought before moving onto the next form, was finding that checking over the next of kind info, it wasn't a punishment, was an honor. Because everybody deserved to have someone looking out for them, even if that person was "A cocky kid that's better at getting me into trouble than out of it," he fondly declared to the empty room, was already anticipating Jim's expression when…no _if_ he told him he had put Jim down as his next of kin. Knew Jim's first words would be "Bones, you're the one who says I can't take care of myself."

Thing was, it was true, but Jim Kirk was exceptional at taking care of other people.

'_And I'll do my best to take care of him so this Next of Kin box isn't the latest thing Starfleet remembers about James T. Kirk_,' he vowed, because taking care of each other, that was the job and the _privilege_ of being family.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for those lovely words of encouragement on last chapter.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


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